


Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, NSFW, Public Sex, There's No Reason, a nice one, in an italian restaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Happy Halloween! I wrote smut.--Why is it named after a Billy Joel song, one might ask?There's no reason.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

“Ready?” Eve calls into the bedroom. She wears a tight, black dress.

Villanelle walks out of the bedroom. Her heels thud on the carpet, then tap darkly on the wooden floor. She wears a long, red dress with thick straps and a plunging v neckline. The slit in its side nearly comes to the top of her thigh. Her hair is half-up, half-down, and her heels are thick, black velvet.

“I’m ready,” she responds, pulling her red-painted lips into a smirk. She smirks because Eve’s eyes go wide, and she never tires at the sight.

Eve ushers Villanelle out the door, inviting her to walk ahead. And then, they head off to the Italian restaurant.

//

The waiter brings the wine they ordered, then gives them some time to peruse the menu.

“You look _so_ good,” Eve says to Villanelle, from across their small booth.

Villanelle smiles and does something cheeky; that is, she invites Eve to sit beside her, so that they can share one side of the booth. She scoots in and is satisfied when Eve takes the seat beside her. She is happy to feel Eve’s warmth and places her arm around Eve.

After a few sips of wine, Villanelle finds herself shuffling around in her seat.

“You okay?” Eve asks, genuinely.

“Yes, it’s just that I might . . .” she leans in and whispers hotly against the shell of Eve’s ear, “. . . I might _need you_ , when we get home.”

Eve gasps with a delighted look and sets her hand down on Villanelle’s thigh.

Villanelle can hardly keep herself together, as the hand feels warm and suggestive. It’s the furthest thing from grounding.

Eve sees Villanelle leaning slightly over her menu, looking as if she is trying to concentrate. She seizes the opportunity. Eve flicks the middle of Villanelle’s dress over her leg that is closest to the wall, while keeping her eyes focused on her own menu, so as to not get anyone’s attention.

“Is this why you wore a dress with a slit?” Eve asks. Neither of them look at each other.

“N-No, I—” Villanelle interrupts herself with a gasp.

Eve moves her hand further up Villanelle’s thigh, pleased when Villanelle’s sensitivity keeps her from continuing to make an excuse.

“Fuck, you’re so needy,” Eve says, finally glancing at Villanelle’s eyes, for a moment. She notices how blushed Villanelle’s cheeks have become. “You wore a nice dress with a slit, just for me.”

Villanelle nods in agreement and surrender because she sees the waiter coming back, and she doesn’t want Eve to torture her in front of him.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” the waiter asks, upon arrival.

“I’ll have the Gnocchi Pomodoro, please,” Eve says with clarity. She says it while stroking her finger, once—just one _teeny, tiny_ stroke—over Villanelle’s pubic bone, upon discovering that Villanelle wore no underwear under her dress.

“And for you?” the waiter asks Villanelle.

“Y-Yes, please.” Villanelle says. She feels Eve make a broader, featherlight stroke over her pubic bone, and she realizes that she didn’t address what the waiter wanted to know. “I—y-yeah,” she tries again.

“She’ll have the Calamari e Gamberi alla Griglia,” Eve says.

“I’m sorry,” Villanelle says to the waiter—and _why_ does she say it in a proper British accent, all of a sudden? “This place is quite nice; I’m a bit nervous,” Villanelle says.

“No problem at all, Madame,” he says with a reassuring smile, then leaves.

“British?” Eve asks, after he is out of earshot.

“Fuck,” Villanelle sighs with frustration and arousal. “I can’t . . . I can’t order when you—”

“And no panties?” Eve asks, raising her eyebrows and looking directly at her girl.

“Not with this type of dress!” Villanelle argues. And then she shivers as Eve brushes her finger over her labia, all the way on the outside. She looks around the restaurant and is pleased that everyone seems to be focused on the people at their own tables.

“I ordered shrimp for you, by the way.”

“Th-Thank . . .” and then “ _Oh_.”

Eve has placed a fingertip on her clit with no pressure or movement, at all.

The waiter comes back and places bread and olive oil and vinegar on the table, exchanging a few words with Eve, while Villanelle focuses squarely on the dark wood of the table.

When he leaves, again, Villanelle simply begs, “ _Please._ ”

“What do you want?” Eve asks, making eye contact, again.

“I-I—I think—I want—Will” Villanelle struggles.

Eve moves her finger back to the outside.

“I’m so fucking wet for you, please touch me,” Villanelle begs in the softest, most embarrassed whisper possible. And then she drops her head and almost moans aloud when Eve immediately replaces her finger and starts to move it.

“Is that good?” Eve asks, collecting wetness and using it to stroke Villanelle’s clit in circles.

“M’god, yeah,” Villanelle whines, quietly.

Eve removes her hand from between Villanelle’s legs and takes a piece of bread, tearing it and dipping it in the olive oil and vinegar mixture, then eats it and licks the wetness from her finger, all while Villanelle watches. She punctuates her actions with a “mm” that signifies how good it tastes.

The waiter comes back with their dishes: pasta for Eve and a calamari and shrimp dish for Villanelle. He sets them down and receives a polite “thank you” from Eve (and a stuttered, shaky, British one from Villanelle).

Eve returns her hand when he leaves, then uses her left hand to grab her fork and try to eat. It’s a slow process, but she manages.

“Are you going to eat?” Eve asks, quickening the pace of her hand while speaking to Villanelle.

Villanelle takes her fork and collects a piece of the shrimp. She eats it while accidentally wincing. She rolls her hips a little.

“Is it good?” Eve asks.

“Y-Yeah,” Villanelle whines, and she is rewarded with strokes that go up and down. She almost cries out, but doesn’t, shuddering quietly and opting to try the calamari and the small salad underneath it, instead.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Eve husks.

Villanelle makes the mistake of looking under the table, just as the waiter comes back, again. The seat is a little bit wet, already, and she hasn’t even come, yet. Her expression becomes startled.

“Is everything tasting alright, and may I get you anything else?” the waiter asks, and then, “Oh, dear. Is everything alright?” he asks when he sees Villanelle’s face.

Eve can’t think of a quick response.

“I’ve dropped one of my shrimp. So expensive!” Villanelle says. “I’m so sorry!”

“I can bring you another side of shrimp, if you’d like,” the waiter offers.

“No!” Villanelle accidentally _yells_ out, when Eve stops circling her clit, on accident. Eve takes the hint and realizes her attention slipped, and thus her finger stilled, so she starts moving it, again. “I just . . . Can I get an extra napkin?” Villanelle asks with the seat beneath her in mind.

The waiter steals a silverware roll from a nearby table and hands it to Villanelle. This appeases her, and the waiter leaves, again.

“I need your fingers,” Villanelle tells Eve, as soon as possible, and the way she says it is as though she wants to cover her face with both of her hands—a true _need_.

“Oh, baby!” Eve gasps. “So desperate and wet for me,” she teases, quietly, but she lifts Villanelle’s leg over her own. It gives her access.

The air suddenly feels cool, to Villanelle. She feels much more exposed, like this, and she thinks that anybody in the nearby tables would see exactly what is going on, if they looked over. Her worries get cast aside when Eve sinks two fingers into her.

Eve does so while continuing to eat pasta using her left hand. And she hums while taking a large bite of the pasta, probably because of how good Villanelle feels.

Eve pumps her fingers in and out of Villanelle, a few times, and Villanelle already becomes close.

Villanelle is in the process of throwing her head back when she makes eye contact with a young girl, at a booth that is diagonal from her and Eve’s.

The girl looks to be in her twenties. She has brown, curly hair and brown eyes. She stares at Eve and Villanelle in shock. She is the only one on her side of the booth, and it looks as though her parents (or older relatives) sit on the other side.

Villanelle looks to Eve with a half-worried, half-still-aroused expression, and Eve immediately notices the girl.

“It’s okay,” Eve assures Villanelle, while staring the girl down in a way that says _she’s mine_. And Eve moves herself closer to Villanelle, sitting up straight and extending her neck. She feels overwhelmingly possessive and protective.

The girl shakes out of a trance and tries to look away. (She _tries_ , she really does, but she seemingly can’t. She is stunned, and her relatives carry on their own conversation, unaware.)

Villanelle hides her face in Eve’s hair, when Eve moves closer to her. She feels embarrassed and exposed and aroused, and she’s _so_ close, and she thinks she might come while the girl watches.

“Who do you belong to?” Eve asks, turning her head so Villanelle’s face is fully hidden.

Villanelle smells Eve’s hair and she whines, “ _’M yours_ ,” and then a whimpered, “ _Fuck_!” and she comes while Eve’s fingers plunge in and out of her, carrying her through.

Eve kisses Villanelle as the last of the aftershocks roll through her, and then both of them glance over towards the girl, one more time.

The brown-haired girl is red in the face and looks to be focusing _very_ hard on tearing a piece of bread into tiny crumbs, on her plate.

“She’s harmless,” Eve assures Villanelle.

“I think that she came here just for the Italian food, not to see _all_ of _me_ ,” Villanelle laughs. And then, “She is lucky, though; I am beautiful.”

Eve whacks her thigh with a laugh.

Villanelle locates her water glass and depletes its contents, completely.

The waiter comes back and asks, “Are you ladies still doing alright?”

“We are great, thank you,” Villanelle says, in her regular, Russian accent.

The waiter raises his eyebrows in surprise of the sudden clarity and the change. He looks like he’s going to ask a question—or multiple questions—but Eve interrupts.

“There’s nothing we need,” Eve affirms, somewhat sternly.

The waiter takes the hint and shuffles away, and she and Villanelle laugh while preparing to leave.

Eve helps Villanelle pull her long coat on, and then Villanelle swipes the extra napkin over the seat, and then _both_ of them avoid eye contact with the brunette from the other table as they hurry to the door.

**Author's Note:**

> They didn't pay. I'm not going to edit that in; that's not the important part, is it?


End file.
